This is Psycho's baby picture. He looks innocent and all that doesn't he?
He was taken from his mamma way too early, but the owner said the kittens were destined for drowning (seems to be an old-time remedy for neglect of spaying or neutering). So I took the little lump at age 4 weeks as a present for grandson. So the two little ones slept with me, one, Psycho, nursing the, God forbid, loose skin on my underarm relentlessly as he was obviously not getting milk. The other little one was curled up close to me with his little arm over Psycho. (Today they are still the best buddies.) We bottle fed Psycho (he had a different name before it evolved more to fit his personality, but I don't remember what it was), but he still had this sucking thing that he still gets carried away with. He sits, leaning up against the wall, all curled over, nursing his own belly. Now that is demented. I even hate to confess it.
So, Psycho has grown up. I would judge him to be in late adolescence. He goes out at night and kills rats, even though he is declawed. If we don't let him out, he picks fights with the other cats until we can't take it anymore and let him out.
Ms. Meowie did another dump on my study floor, and though she is not an outdoor cat, in my frustration, I shoved her out the door, and Psycho ran out after her. She took off walking down the street. At that point, I confess, I had cracked, I did not care if she ever came back.
Later, I felt guilty and opened the front door and guess who was leading Ms. Meowie down the street toward home? Yep, Psycho.
Its interesting to watch how they take care of one another in this 3 cat community. Except at eating time that is. Then it is every man, uh cat, for his own self. Once in a while I supplement with - - - canned TUNA! The caterwauling and yowling from when the can is first popped to when it makes it to their plates rivals the best werewolf movie howls.